


Caring

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring, Deductions, Ficlet, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, taking care of each other, what can we deduce about his heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John figures something out about Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caring

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a post on tumblr that I cannot for the life of me be bothered to go searching for. I know it involved [stitchlock](http://stitchlock.tumblr.com/), though. So, you all have her to thank for this. 
> 
> Thanks, bb. <3
> 
> Apologies for the shit title.

When he finally sees it, it hits John like the proverbial ton of bricks. It’s so obvious, so very, very clear that he cannot even fathom how he’d missed it for so long. For years. Forever. How had he not seen? How could he be so stupid? Such an idiot?

He knows, of course. He’s known for a long time. Sherlock is his best friend, and he is Sherlock’s. But it’s not a thing they discuss. They don’t talk about feelings. It’s not necessary. John doesn’t admit these days, that he clings a little tighter to Sherlock, or why. And Sherlock doesn’t admit that he lets John cling, that perhaps he clings back. They don’t talk about it. They just don’t.

But John does little things, that he hopes Sherlock takes to mean he cares. He makes tea. He forces Sherlock to eat with something approaching regularity (that one is far easier than it was when they first became flatmates). When Sherlock falls asleep on the sofa, which is fairly often, John covers him with a blanket and saves his progress on whatever spreadsheet or whatnot he was working on. Little things. 

He’d never seen the same from Sherlock. It used to make him worry. Make him question if Sherlock was, perhaps, a bit of a sociopath, back before… well, before all that shit that they definitely don’t talk about ever happened. For a while he’d concluded that it was Sherlock’s social deafness, his lack of socialization and a circle of friends.

But he’s met Sherlock and Mycroft’s parents, so he must not be totally immune to it. Perhaps it’s just not his way. He does seem to think of himself as rather opaque, when it comes to his heart. He still pretends he hasn’t got one, despite ample evidence to the contrary.

It was there, though. It was there all along, John was just too much of an idiot, too blind to see it. 

“John? John are you even listening to me?” 

Sherlock’s annoyed tone cuts through John’s thoughts the way it always does, which he imagines was Sherlock’s intent. 

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, what?”

Sherlock just shakes his head, rather fondly John thinks, and leads John out of Lestrade’s office with a hand on his elbow.

He’d been talking to Lestrade about the murderer, of all the little tell-tale signs that his marriage was failing, that his wife no longer cared about him: the frayed cuffs on his unpressed and stained shirt, something about the turn-ups on his jeans, the unevenness of his shave, his mismatched socks.

And John had finally realized. All those tiny little things that Sherlock pointed out or did for him. All those things. Those were what Sherlock did. He made sure John never left the flat looking like a prat. He made sure no one would think John didn’t have someone who cared.

He’s pretty sure he only makes it to the lift without walking into something by grace of Sherlock’s hand, still on his elbow. Once the doors shut, he turns to Sherlock to say--what? He doesn’t even know. Sherlock raises one brow at John as he adjusts the collar of that damned coat. However out of it John seems right now, he can tell Sherlock is immensely amused by it. 

Sherlock finishes with his collar and makes a little tutting sound, reaching out and turning John away from him. John feels Sherlock’s long fingers against the back of his neck, briefly, and then nothing. After a moment, he turns back around, looking to Sherlock for explanation.

Sherlock shrugs, looking a bit sheepish. “Your collar was uneven.”

John raises his eyebrows.

“You shouldn’t look as though you have no one to care for you,” Sherlock says, staring at the ground.

The lift dings, and the doors start to open. John leans over and bumps his shoulder into Sherlock’s. They both exit the lift smiling.


End file.
